


Fluorescents

by abbeytre3



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Groundhog Day, and it isnt the vampires, but she tries, cant keep alive to save her own life, more like Groundhog Life, theres something weird about this little town, when bella truly is distaster prone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeytre3/pseuds/abbeytre3
Summary: “Every man is put on earth condemned to die. Time and method of execution unknown.”― Rod Serling, The Twilight ZoneIsabella Swan figures that she'll eventually find one that sticks, because that's her sort of luck.But everything in this town is off, in a way that someone might not notice if they passed through once, or twice, but Bella has been through the same damned week 142 times and its now her personal mission to figure out why.
Relationships: bella/life
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. 2/142

**Author's Note:**

> You'll notice that some of the wording may seem familiar. The dialogue of people not Bella is directly from the books. It has a purpose I promise.

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

"I want to go," I lied.

My mother jerked forward in an aborted motion for just one more hug, when a different arm wrapped a vice like grip around my stomach. He was yelling something but I couldn’t make it out above the static in my ears. The sudden yank threw me off and in a characteristic display of clumsiness, I’ve always been clumsy but now just took the cake, I pitched forward to the ground, a motion the man was not expecting if my sudden lack of breath was to go by.

Red. Red red red redredredredredr. I tried to bring my hands closer, to push myself up or wipe my tears but all I could see was red, taste copper, and have that distinctive acrid smell burn the inside of my nose. My world abruptly plunged into the dark, though I swear I could hear my mother screaming.

**My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt — sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.**

**"Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."**

I had always had vivid dreams. I suppose last night was more of the same, but for some foreboding reason my mouth just wouldn’t form the assurances that my mother needed to hear to let me go. Instead I nodded stiffly and shuffled towards the entrance. She surged forward and hugged me tightly for a minute and whispered, “You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me”. And then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

The flight took five hours, five long hours that I spent flipping through the pages of Mr. Darcy and his bumbling stoicism. He would probably fit right in with Charlie and I. Bella Swan, long lost Darcy sibling?

Stepping outside into the parking lot of the Port Angeles airport it hit me that I truly had said goodbye to sun and warmth. The rain was coming down in a steady drizzle and the sun had fulfilled its quota for the next two months apparently.

Locating Charlie was luckily the easiest part of the day, do you see the man by the police cruiser? Bingo, congratulations. You win an hour-long car ride with awkward silences and stilted questions.

Its not that I don’t love my dad, its just that we coexist best with a third person to bridge the communication gap. For the last three years, Mickey Mouse had played that role for us. The mouse could probably hold a psychiatry degree with how many crumbling relationships they had walk through their park in a last-ditch effort of connection.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

“Ah-” I started to say that Mom was good when my dream flashed in front of my mind, trapping my words in my throat. Her crying screaming face over me in a haze of red. I just saw her. I knew she was fine. But half my subconscious was still convinced she was sobbing somewhere over a tragic incident.

I hadn’t decided what words to respond with when he continued on, seemingly unaware of my pause, “I found a good car for you, really cheap”.

I stayed quiet as Charlie continued explaining the truck he acquired for me, spinning off into tales of Billy Black and reminiscing of countless fishing trips. I was glad that he was able to fill the car with comfortable chatter with little input. Still, “Thanks Dad.”

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, quiet but fairly glowing. Charlie was a bit like me, he didn’t take praise very well, but he appreciated knowing that he was going in the right direction.

I relaxed in the easy silence, so far this trip was going much smoother than anticipated, eat your heart out Fitzwilliam. Back in Arizona, the land seemed to stretch infinitely, with a sky that seemed like a master painter had spent decades blending each sunset. Forks was completely different, the sky couldn’t break through the impenetrable fortress of dark clouds, but the greenery was vibrant and teeming with life. A light smile formed unconsciously as I thought about Bob Ross calling them ‘happy little trees’.

I barely had time to register a flash of brown out of the corner of my eye before Charlie was slamming on the breaks, and the windshield was shattering and all the breath was stolen from my chest. I looked down, expecting to see the crushing blow of an airbag, but was met with the glassy eyes of a dead buck, his bone white antlers dripping with a red viscous liquid. I followed the trail back though to my chest and through my lung. Detachedly evaluating the situation, I turned to dad, his head lolling against the inflated airbag, eyes roving around disoriented,

“Ah, sorry about this” and I promptly fell into the black void.

**"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"**

My eyes snapped open and took in the drizzle splattering my parka and the unblemished police cruiser and the alert happy sheen to my dad.

It wasn’t a dream.


	2. 3/142

The ride back to Forks was quieter than the last one, Charlie only quietly humming along to the near silent radio as I stared intensely out the window. Instead of admiring the foliage I took a more tense position of scanning for wildlife, as if it would help. As off roads for housing started dotting the tree line more consistently, Charlie broke the silence with, “I found a good car for you, really cheap”.

Joy of having independent transportation, although the statement was more than déjà vu, warred with my new jitters for the road. In the end I finally managed a “Thanks” and Charlie was happy enough with that to talk about how he bought it off of Billy Black, and as his familiar monologue ran on, a feeling of intense longing and nostalgia washed over me for when this conversation would have happened in a happy warm car, with what felt like the beginning of mending a relationship, rather than an old rerun.

Eventually one of the off roads was Charlie’s and his cruiser meandered up the drive the park next to a red behemoth of a vehicle. I couldn’t help the grin working its way onto my face; between a deer and this truck, the truck would win.

Charlie took in the delighted look on my face and muttered "I'm glad you like it".

I hauled my things upstairs, feeling a much different person from when I packed it this morning, although it felt like a week ago. My childhood bedroom had hardly changed, the won and spine cracked Austen novel I tossed on the bed not even being the oldest thing in the room. But it was safe and familiar, exactly what I needed right now.

After putting away the small percent of my closet that was appropriate for Forks, I circled my room, trying to take in one more minute of safe haven before trudging downstairs and facing, apparently, reality again. At least things were moving forward. I took one more deep breathe while looking out the window before deciding that it was time to go. I latched the window lock for good measure before closing my door and going to meet Charlie in the kitchen.

That night a storm rolled in, sheets of water pounding against my window eventually lulling me to sleep. When I woke up in the morning a feeling that I had been dreaming of my childhood slipped away from me.

Glancing out the window while eating breakfast with Charlie had me resigned to the fact that the fog was not dispersing this morning. I vowed to be even more careful on the road to school, who knew what could be lurking in the trees unseen.

The trip to school was short, not even enough time on the road for the light drizzle to force me to turn on the wipers. The short drive however did instill upon me a sense of safety, this truck was going to be the last survivor in the apocalypse.

Turning into a parking space near all the other cars I turned off the engine and rested my forehead against the wheel for a few moments. Going to school felt so normal, so mundane. I was quite sure that I had … had _died_ , perhaps even twice if the airport was not just a strange fever dream. Was there therapy for this? I was whole and healthy if not secure in my state of mind and I don’t think violent dreams have a trauma category a professional would take seriously. Was I alone in this? All I knew was that I didn’t want to _die_. Regardless of not having particularly high expectations for after high school, the future was a total blank void to me, I still wanted to live, to fill in that space with experiences. Moving forward was my only path, but I was… _scared._

Taking one more deep breath and exhaling slowly I finally got out of my truck. Despite the cars scattered around the parking lot was empty, the flickering of lights and movement in the windows of the scattered buildings telling me that school was indeed in session.

The trip to the school office to pick up my schedule was so unextraordinary that it smoothed down a few of my fired nerves and helped me to walk to my first class feeling first day jitters rather than terrified for my life jitters. My few friends in Phoenix took me a while to make, I was not a very extroverted person and mostly relied on an outgoing person to take me under their wing and expand my friend group. I couldn’t hope for a miracle and that there would be another Alyssa here. Another bouncy blonde to argue Austen and listen patiently to my wailing about Emily Dickinson and who I could listen patiently to her wailing about Magical Girl Utena.

Worrying about siting with someone at lunch was probably the least of my worries, but also the most current. In all likelihood I should be keeping my head down and alert and watching out for stray knives. But the longing to have _someone_ in my corner was overwhelming. Never again would I underestimate the power of Alyssa’s movie nights.

In English I sat at the edge of a swarth of empty seats, right next to two girls as pale as I. The Olsen twins have gained a triplet. As the teacher started talking about the reading list for the year, Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, and the like, my eyes slid to the rest of the room in boredom. Absently I noted that the girl next to me were paying as much rapt attention as I, that is to say, none. The teacher had moved on to explain just what iambic pentameter was, but in the most uninspiring way possible, his monotone flowing over me as I receded into a bored delirium.

I felt the drag of sleep forcing my eyes closed and jerked upright abruptly, falling asleep the first day of class would not be the best impression, better save that for the third day. With a jolt of internal humiliation, I realized that the fixed point I had been staring at as my mind drifted off was in fact, my neighbor desk. And she was staring right back.

Frantically I sifted through my half-formed thoughts for an icebreaker, something to hopefully distract this girl from the fact that I had been staring at her _lights on nobody home_ for the last few minutes. Like the call of an angel I heard Alyssa’s voice say, ‘ _talk about a movie you just saw_ ’.

Haphazardly a sentence fell out of my mouth, “Do you, like… cars?” I could feel already more blood rush to my heated cheeks and knew that I was about to find out if a human could self-combust. Why did my going away movie night have to be a Pixar marathon?!

The girl’s eyes narrowed, and one blonde eyebrow rose, she slowly replied, “…yes?”

A lopsided smile grew on my face as angels sang in my head that she wasn’t going to ignore me and then tell everyone that the new girl was a complete freak. In a school of only three hundred and fifty-seven yelp reviews, a one star on my first day was sure to make the next two years hell.

I couldn’t help myself and volleyed back, “Talking, transforming, or driving?”

She leaned on the thin bar holding the small desk to her chair between us and said, “I prefer ripping out their guts and turning them into improved machines. I’m like Frankenstein but with a degree.”

I relaxed back into my seat, “Bachelors or Masters?”

She spread her hands magnanimously, “Just call me Doctor Hale”.

The class ended with a wheeze from the Professor and a “I guess you guys can go”.

_Doctor Hale_ and I walked towards the door of the classroom, Hale hip checking a kid with inky dark hair out of the way when he tried rushing past us. She quirked a smirk at my aborted laugh and asked, “Where are you headed?”

I fumbled with my schedule, “Ah, building three.”

“Take a right when you exit through that door, it should be within viewing distance. There’s only three rooms in that building, try to not get lost.” She gave a small wave and with a “See you around” she was gone.

Only when she had left did I become aware of the stares of the surrounding students. A twenty-pound weight of anxiety dropped on my shoulders and I scurried away to my next class. For just a few minutes I had forgotten how utterly new I was.

The rest of my classes threw English in stark contrast. Instead of banter and testing friend water, I became an oddity and had questions lobbed at me from every direction, most of them inconsequential, and a few way too prying. I could only hope that by answering the best I could I would become less of a mystery and less interesting.

Come lunchtime, I somehow found myself sitting with a group, although I felt a bit like an outsider looking in on a group of close friends, although I suppose that it would be impossible to not start out that way anywhere in the lunchroom, as everyone here knew each other from kindergarten.

The door to the outside opened and a group of kids stepped into the lunchroom, only made notable by the hush that fell over the lunchroom.

I turned to look at the entrance when my vision went black and all I could feel was a searing burning pain _everywhere_ and then nothing.

**The trip to the school office to pick up my schedule was so unextraordinary that it smoothed down a few of my fired nerves and helped me to walk to my first class feeling first day jitters rather than terrified for my life jitters.**

I looked down at the smooth and uncrumple paper in my hand. My first class of the day was English. Again. _Kill me now._


End file.
